Meridian
by Reasons For Laughing
Summary: Jack sits with Daniel in the infirmary. Set during Meridian. Implied slash. Second person. Canon death. Please review.


Disclaimer:Don't own

It's kinda non-canon compliant. But I don't care! Implied Jack/Daniel, and general Meridian angstyness. Oh, also, SECOND PERSON warning!

* * *

It is cold in the infirmary but you steel yourself against the cold. A few hours ago he was stoically describing his gruesome fate to you. In a few more he will be embalmed and placed in a casket and buried underground with a flag for his service. Now he lies in there in bandages and you think that there has to be something wrong with the world. He reaches his hand out to you with a moan, and you grab it tight, wanting to be the anchor that keeps his on earth.

"How you holding up?" you ask softly and he grunts a response. "That good, huh?"

You wonder for a moment if the bandaged hand that is clinging to you like lifeline is radioactive, or was radioactive, or if it was the other hand. He smiles at you from underneath the wrappings on his face, but his lips and eyes are splotchy and red and movements looks like it hurt him. You feel awful, but you can't stand to stand by his side and do nothing as he quickly deteriorates.

"You want me to go?" you ask, and you can tell he doesn't. He struggles to wet his lips, but his tongue is dry and swollen and his lips hurt to the touch.

"No," he whispers so soft you think you might have made it up.

"Okay," you say, and sit back into the creaky infirmary chairs. Infirmary. You think you must be channeling him, or at least pretending to, because all you can think is "the word infirmary contains infirm." He is not infirm. He is the strongest person you know and it makes you angry to see him lying there. He smiled at you again, all blue, blue eyes and white, white bandages.

"Hey," you say and his eyes twinkle. "Hey, you hang in there okay?" His chin moves infinitesimally down and back up and you read it like a nod. Your eyes close slightly and you would give your pension for a cup of coffee at that moment, but you can't imagine the torture it would be to drink coffee in front on him, so you don't. You sit there, and you hold his hand and you try to heal him by sheer will alone.

--

It is later and he is gone, he is a white, white shape moving of pure light and his blue, blue eyes are closed and his body is cold and still and your eyes are stinging and you think that Carter is calling you and have to be a leader now, you have to help your team, but he is gone and you are just barely not crying and it is not fair.

"Can I have a moment?" you croak and they are surprised at the sound of your voice, even as their eyes cloud over with tears. You are supposed to be strong, but the you can't be. Not right now. Maybe not ever again. "Please?"

And then you are trailing a hand down his cheek and you are murmuring 'goodbye's and 'I love you's in every language you know, every language he taught you. It is not enough and it will never be enough and when at long last you grab his hand again to give it one last squeeze it is cold and rigor-hard and the tears will not come.

You leave the SGC so quickly it surprises you. You except sympathy stops and people reaching out to grab your shoulder but nobody does and you get into your car and you head for his place. You have the spare key, have for years, and help yourself to a beer from his fridge. He doesn't need beers anymore. You wonder if he can drink on a higher plane; if he needs to eat or sleep or bathe.

You fall into his bed and expect to see him, but you don't. His scent is all around you, now, in the bed. It smells of that particular male smell that words can't identify and of old books; of mint shampoo and fabric softener and Kleenex and eye-glasses cleaner. You lie with your head on his pillow and the wall between your grief and your eyes fades and you are crying. You are crying and it is not okay and you will wake up tomorrow and go to work and smile and help people because that is what you do. You will be a royal ass and everyone will let you, like they always do, and you will come here again at the end of the day and you will cry and somewhere he will be watching you with the knowledge that there is nothing he can now do.

There is nothing more that he can do; there is nothing left for you to do. You have reached the climax of the story and the only thing left is the downward motion to a peaceful end. You want to find some measure of grace, to fade gently as he did in those hours. You sigh and pull yourself out of bed, and slowly, gracefully, begin to draft your resignation. He ascended to light and you begin your steady descent down the ziggurat you have placed yourself upon. So this is your meridian, then, your zenith. And after this, there will be nothing. And at least right now, you are okay with that.

fin.


End file.
